


The Boy Who Smells like Cinnamon

by dabblingwithwords



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Drinking, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Implied Child Abuse, Iroh owns the BEST tea shop, Language, Multi, Pining, Romance, Sokka has it BAD, Toph is Jewish, Underage Drinking, Zuko is Awkward, Zuko wears nail polish, cringe worthy amounts of pining, idk where they live just somewhere with a tea shop and in America, the hot chocolate sokka makes is the real star here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25021156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabblingwithwords/pseuds/dabblingwithwords
Summary: Sokka has a crush on the boy who works at the Jasmine Dragon Tea Shop. He's not subtle.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 181
Kudos: 2448





	The Boy Who Smells like Cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

> here's a happy thing!!! sorry for any grammatical errors i didn't proof read i just wrote it in a haze and posted but i'll start editing as time goes on

Sokka has a crush on the guy from the Jasmine Dragon Tea Shop. 

To be fair Sokka gets crushes easily. He fell in love with the girl on the train the other day, and the guy who delivered his pizzas two weeks ago. Sokka getting crushes isn’t anything new, or exciting, or even serious.

It just is. 

Like how oreos are better in milk. 

Or how warm sheets in the winter is heaven.

(Or how police are pigs).

It just is. 

Katara doesn’t even pay attention anymore. Which is kind of hurtful. Just because Sokka falls in love easily doesn’t mean it isn’t important, but when his little sister gets a text once a week saying: “i think i’m in love” it’s easy for her to not see the sincerity. 

Not Sokka. 

Each crush is special. 

Each crush means _something_. 

The girl on the train had red lipstick and ratty boots and Sokka had been feeling miserable until she asked him for directions. The pizza delivery guy had given him delicious grease and cheese when Sokka hadn’t eaten that whole day. And the boy from the Green Dragon Tea Shop gave him a vanilla chai when Sokka’s hands were freezing from being outside in the cold. 

So each crush means something. But Sokka has seen this boy three times and has fallen in love every time. It’s a different feeling than the one he got with the woman in the comic book store. It’s a different feeling than the one he had with the pretty waitress at his favorite BBQ place. 

It’s just– 

It’s different. 

And Sokka is freaking out.

“I’m freaking out,” he hisses, face stuffed into his wool scarf, “I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“You always freak out,” Suki tells him, grip tight on his wrist as she tries to drag him behind her, “and it’s always okay.”

“That’s not true,” Sokka argues and digs his heels in, “what about the time at that club? Or the bookstore? Or in high school when we tried to–”

“Sokka,” Suki sighs and when she stops tugging he nearly whips into her like a rubber band, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could die.” 

Suki looks entirely unimpressed. She sighs and places both her mitten covered palms against Sokka’s face. She squishes his cheeks. He feels ridiculous. She looks immaculate. 

“Listen to me,” Suki says, her tone serious, “you haven’t shut up about this guy. Not once. It’s been a month. It’s been over a month! I’m tired of hearing about his eyes, or his hair, or his hands, or how raspy his voice is–”

“Like smoke,” Sokka sighs, “but in a good way! He doesn’t smoke. Or maybe he does. He never smells like smoke though. He smells like–”

“Cinnamon,” Suki interrupts. 

Sokka blinks. 

“Oh,” he says. “I see your point. I talk about him too much.” 

“You do,” Suki agrees, “but more importantly you really like him. So we’re doing this.” 

“ _We_?” Sokka balks, “You’re not coming in!”

“Like hell I’m not,” Suki says and releases Sokka’s face to continue dragging him through the throngs of holiday shoppers, “I wanna see him.” 

“ _No_!” Sokka hisses and tries to tug free, again, but Suki’s grip is iron and Sokka isn’t trying that hard anyway, “Suki, no. No no no no–”

“Stop freaking out,” she says and slips her hand from his wrist to hold his hand instead. She squeezes his palm, once, twice, in comfort. “I won’t say anything.” 

“But you’ll _hear_ me,” Sokka grumbles.

“Unfortunately, I always hear you,” Suki returns and stops, abrupt. 

There’s a line. The tea shop is popular, the best one around, and it’s in the middle of Casselberry street, covered in fairy lights and red holly. It looks like the perfect Christmas shop, decked out in gold tinsel and white paper snowflakes. The windows are steamed from the heat of all the bodies packed inside. 

Sokka can’t even see the counter. 

“Look! It’s too busy. Let’s come back later, when Christmas is over and there are no witnesses!” Sokka tries to walk away but Suki grabs him and pulls him tight against her side.

“We’re staying,” she says, “now I really want tea.”

“You want to _embarrass_ me,” Sokka grumbles and buries half his face into his scarf. 

It’s blistering cold, especially when the wind picks up, but Sokka huddles close to Suki and lets their body heat warm each other up. Because the line is long, and it’s cold, and Sokka can’t stop thinking to save his life, he comes to a devastating realization when they’re about three people away from entering the shop. 

He panics, of course he does, because he can see the boy with the burn scar and he can see his shaggy hair and he can see that his nails are now painted red and he can’t, he really can’t, because he is an idiot–

“Suki,” Sokka hisses, “what if he’s straight?” 

Suki, who was busy staring at a girl with a long braid and pink overcoat, says, “what?” 

“The boy,” Sokka insists, clutching her arm, “what if he’s straight?” 

“Then he’s straight?” Suki says. 

“You don’t _get it_ ,” Sokka says and goes to disentangle their arms so that he can run and forget about this entire excursion and _who needs crushes anyway–_

“I think you’re actually freaking out,” Suki observes. 

“Ya think!” Sokka exclaims, too loud, and garners some stares from the patrons currently leaving. 

He hangs his head. 

Maybe he’ll die? 

Maybe he will drop dead and this will all be over and–

“Hi,” Suki says, but not to Sokka, and it’s enough of a shock that Sokka looks up and meets the gold eyes of the boy who smells like cinnamon, “I like your nails.” 

The boy looks a bit flustered, and he doesn’t meet their eyes. 

“Oh,” he says and then, slowly, “thank you.”

Suki elbows Sokka hard enough that he jolts and knocks over the tip jar. Unfortunately (fortunately?) there was only two dollars and fifty cents inside so it’s pathetically easy to clean up. The boy is just staring at the counter with that light dusting of pink on his cheeks and he’s not looking at Sokka at all and this is so _awkward_ , Sokka’s made this so _awkward–_

“You’re pretty cute,” Sokka blurts out and. 

Wow. 

Okay. 

He’s firing his mouth. And his brain. And his dumb fucking _heart_ because _now_ the cinnamon boy is staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks as red as his nails, and he’s so fucking _cute_ that Sokka feels his chest constrict. It’s a physical ache. How is this boy so his type? How? 

The boy stutters. He looks like he’s going to combust. 

And then he leaves. 

Just. 

Leaves. 

The register. 

And the long line. 

He leaves. 

And Sokka and Suki are left standing at the counter with the tip jar that Sokka knocked over and a line of confused customers. 

“Whoa,” Suki whistles, “he’s even more awkward than you are.” 

Sokka doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t really even sure what just happened besides that he’s pretty certain you can’t just… leave your job? Maybe you can. 

That _is_ what quitting is. 

“We need to leave,” Sokka moans, “I ruined it. Me and my dumb mouth ruined it.” 

“I still want tea,” Suki complains but doesn’t dig her heels in when Sokka pulls them out of the line. 

He doesn’t look back to see if the boy returned. 

He doesn’t look back at all. 

“Hey, Sokka,” Suki says, gentle, when they’re out of the store and a full block away. 

“Yeah?” he mutters, dejected and embarrassed and–

“I definitely don’t think he’s straight.” 

+

It takes four days for Sokka to gather up the courage to go back to the tea shop. 

It’s about a week away from Christmas, so it’s just as busy as it was before, but Sokka takes a deep steadying breath and gets in line and blasts “Me Against the World” as loud as he can through his ratty headphones. 

_He’s just a boy_ , Sokka tells himself, _he’s just a boy who is also a nervous wreck so you have nothing to worry about._ This pep talk helps until he’s at the counter and then he’s staring at a bored looking girl who he hasn’t seen before. 

“Um,” he says, “where’s the guy that works here?” 

Despite his own anxieties his mouth doesn’t seem to know what _filters_ are. Or what being _suave_ means. 

The girl blows a pink bubble before popping the gum with a snap of her teeth. 

“You mean Zuko?” she drawls. 

Sokka is hyper aware of the line behind him. He realizes he probably shouldn’t be starting a conversation. But–

“Yeah. He has red nails, long hair? Kind of–” 

“Messed up scar on his left side?” the girl interrupts, quirking an eyebrow and Sokka feels indignation flare hot in his chest. 

“It’s not messed up,” he argues. 

The girl pops her gum and says, “look man, do you even want tea?” 

“Uh, yes.” 

She stares. 

“Cinnamon,” Sokka tells her, “can you tell Zuko I said hi?” 

The girl taps her long acrylic nails on the register. She’s beyond exasperated. 

“Does he even know who you are?” she snipes. 

Sokka deflates. Any kind of confidence he had is gone in a snap of pink bubblegum. 

“Maybe?” he tries. 

“So I should say _what_?” the girl asks in a drawl and leans over the counter, “Some guy with a shaved head ordered cinnamon tea and says hi?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Sokka confirms, irked by this girl’s demeanor and really not caring anymore. 

He already knocked over the tip jar. He already made the boy he has a crush on so flustered he literally _ran away_. There’s not much else he has to lose at this point. His dignity left him years ago. The girl sighs. 

“Fine,” she says and slides Sokka his paper cup of cinnamon tea. “I’ll make it my top priority.” 

“Tell him my name’s Sokka,” he says. 

“Sure,” the girl agrees but she’s looking at the next customer and Sokka leaves with the feeling that she’s not going to tell the boy– _Zuko–_ anything. 

+

Sokka wakes up early. 

He figures the shop is busiest in the afternoon, and it opens around 10a. He decides that if he beats the rush maybe he’ll be able to actually meet Zuko. Properly. It feels like he has to now. The girl’s indifferent rudeness has given Sokka a new sense of determination. He isn’t sure why. He just feels like he has to prove her wrong somehow. Wrong with what, he doesn’t know. But wrong. 

Or something. 

The shop is, blessedly, empty. 

The silver bell dings above the door to alert his arrival and there isn’t a customer in sight. It’s so strange, to not see this place packed full, that for a moment Sokka thinks the shop is actually closed. But then he sees Zuko behind the counter and any rational thought kind of runs out the window. Both boys meet each other’s gaze and Zuko blushes, as red as he had the other day. Sokka can’t really just turn around and leave. 

Well, he could, but then what was the point of having that girl approach Zuko for him? What would be the point of any of this? It’s the holidays, he’s going to fight for something dammit. So he swallows his building anxiety and wipes his palms on his jeans and approaches the counter slower than he normally would because for a second he kind of forgot how to walk. 

Zuko looks surprised to see him. 

He looks terrified. 

And that mollifies any kind of nerves Sokka had been feeling. The last thing he wants is to make someone so uncomfortable that they’re scared. That thought is– wow, horrible. 

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says and Zuko looks even more alarmed, “I didn’t mean to make you feel put on the spot. Or uncomfortable. I– I’m really sorry. If I did. And for knocking over the tip jar.” 

The boy stares. And then, slowly, he lets out a breath. 

“It’s… okay,” Zuko says. His voice is raspy and gentle, all in the same breath, and he’s looking at Sokka, _he’s actually looking at Sokka_ and _oh no_ he has a bit of a lisp– “I wasn’t. Um, I’m just not used to, uh, compliments?” 

“Oh,” Sokka says, “so. I didn’t make you uncomfortable?” 

“No,” Zuko says and runs a nervous hand through his long hair, “not. No. Not uncomfortable.” 

“That’s good,” Sokka breathes. 

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees. 

They both stare. And then look away. This is _so_ awkward. 

“I just, I’ve seen you in here a lot,” Sokka says. 

“I work here,” Zuko points out. 

Sokka laughs, strained under his own nerves. 

“Right! Right, I know that. Obviously I know– I mean, I’m here right now. We’re– uh, in front of each other so.” 

There’s another long silence, one that Sokka isn’t sure how the hell he’s supposed to fill, but to his surprise Zuko speaks first. 

“Do you live around here?” 

Sokka looks up. Zuko is bright red, embarrassed, but he’s meeting Sokka’s gaze with a determination that Sokka can’t help but admire. 

“Yeah,” Sokka admits, “my dad and I are off Bardstown Road. Do you?”

“No,” Zuko says and reaches for a paper cup. 

He busies himself with starting to boil some tea. It’s cinnamon with nutmeg and Sokka watches as Zuko picks at the leaves and arranges it in a steeper. 

“Do you want vanilla in here?” Zuko asks. 

“Uh,” Sokka flushes because he’d been busy watching Zuko’s hands and his pretty nails, “yes. Please, yes please.” 

Zuko smiles. Just barely, just a twitch, but it’s enough.

And it’s what does it. Sokka is, officially, screwed. 

+

He texts Suki: _his name is Zuko_

Suki says: _did u ask him out?_   
  


+

Zuko gets progressively more talkative. 

Not in a big way. He’s not chatting away like Sokka does, or Aang when Sokka corners him about his relationship with Katara. In small ways. Sokka’s taken to coming to the tea shop in the mornings, before the holiday rush, before things get really crowded, and before he has to go to school. In these moments Zuko is more relaxed. He’s gotten used to Sokka and he’s a sarcastic shit, Sokka is pleased to discover. Sarcastic but still nervous, and he apologizes profusely whenever he thinks Sokka could be offended. 

And his nails change color after the old shade is gradually picked off. 

Sokka still doesn’t know a lot about Zuko. 

Neither of them have been bold enough to ask any personal questions, or hold a conversation that’s longer than ten minutes. But Sokka wakes up on a frigid Wednesday morning, two weeks before Christmas, the first day of winter break, and feels like he could conquer the world. 

He says goodmorning to his dad, who is bent over his workbench in the garage. He steals half of Katara’s muffin because she’s too busy texting to look up and notice. And then he spends almost thirty minutes getting dressed and doing his hair and making sure he looks nice and then he’s out the door and on the bus and walking down Casselberry and–

“Hi,” Sokka says and stuffs his hands into the deep pockets of his too big jacket. 

It was his dad’s before Hakoda passed it down to him, and his dad is much broader than Sokka will probably ever be. He still has some time to catch up though. He’s only a senior in highschool, he’s still growing. 

Zuko looks up from where he’s already brewing Sokka’s cinnamon tea. 

He smiles, that timid, twitching thing, but it’s so soft and genuine that Sokka feels his chest warming just from seeing it. 

“Hi,” Zuko says, and gestures to Sokka’s person, “I like your jacket.” 

“Oh!” Sokka says, pleased, and holds out his arms, “it’s my dad’s.” 

“Looks warm.”

“Definitely. This baby can withstand any weather.” 

Zuko raises his one eyebrow. 

“There’s a hole on the left side,” he says. 

“What?” Sokka asks and tries to find it, “where?”

“Under the pocket,” Zuko says. He points, even though it doesn’t help any. “There.”

“Shit,” Sokka huffs, “I think I just lost all my money.” 

Zuko blinks, startled.

“What?” he asks.

“How’d I not see this hole?” Sokka exclaims, “I– it’s huge! Oh this is _so_ bad, this is so shitty.” 

Sokka, dejected, drops his hands. He stares forelorningly at the steaming tea in Zuko’s grasp. 

“So,” he sighs, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to scam you. I think I really just lost all of my money. And my driver’s license. _Shit_ , and my school ID–” 

“Uh,” Zuko glances at Sokka, then the tea, then passes it over the counter to him. “On the house.” 

Sokka stares. 

Zuko is looking at the tea that Sokka hasn’t taken. He seems to be contemplating something and then in one swift, jerky movement he’s tearing off his apron and rounding the counter so that he’s standing beside Sokka. And Sokka is effectively distracted about his missing wallet because Zuko is about an inch shorter than him and he still smells like tea and cinnamon and his eyes are such a bright hazel they look gold –

“I’ll help you look,” Zuko says. 

He spits the words out. Sokka is feeling so much all at once. 

“For my wallet,” Sokka clarifies, “you– don’t you have work?” 

Zuko glances at the register. 

“I can take my break early,” he says and goes around Sokka to the door. 

“Wh–wait, dude, I don’t wanna get you into trouble!” Sokka tries and nearly forgets to grab his drink before he stumbles after Zuko.

“My uncle owns the shop,” Zuko says, and he doesn’t meet Sokka’s eyes as he flips the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED” and messes with the locks, “and, uh. My shift isn’t really supposed to start until eleven.”

“Eleven,” Sokka repeats, heat rising to his cheeks, “but it’s ten.” 

“Yeah,” Zoka snaps, harsher than the situation strictly calls for but his face is bright red and he’s still not meeting Sokka’s gaze and _oh_ , Sokka realizes, _he’s embarrassed–_ “it’s. I mean, you come in early. So. I– shut up, it's nothing.” 

He’s not looking at Sokka but Sokka feels like Zuko just kissed him. Zuko took an early shift. To see Sokka. 

And then kept it. 

“Wait,” Sokka begins, “do you open earlier now because–”

“I’m not answering that,” Zuko interrupts and crosses his arms. He’s wearing a red sweater, thick and crimson, and it really makes his eyes even brighter. 

_He is ridiculously pretty_ , Sokka thinks, a bit dazed. He swallows. His heart is racing. He is standing next to Zuko. They are not in the Jasmine Dragon. They are outside. Like normal people. Like a date. 

“Let’s trace your steps,” Zuko says and Sokka blinks back to the present. 

“Right. Yes. Tracing,” Sokka gulps and glances around a little helplessly, “I mean. I took the bus.” 

“Okay,” Zuko says, “which bus?” 

“Wait are we really doing this?” Sokka asks and Zuko looks adorably confused, and cold, as he glares, “Like. Are we really looking for my wallet?”

“What else would we be doing?” Zuko says. 

“I dunno,” Sokka muses and stares at him for an uncomfortably long moment, “but this is weird.”

“You’re making it weird,” Zuko tells him and then, again, “which bus?” 

+

Obviously, they don’t find Sokka’s wallet on the bus. 

But Zuko does let it slip that he’s never actually _been_ on a bus before. 

“What? Really?” Sokka asks. 

Zuko shrugs. 

“It’s never come up,” he says. “We live close to the shop.”

“What about school?” Sokka asks because Zuko looks to be around his age. 

The other boy goes quiet for so long Sokka doesn’t think he’s going to answer. Or maybe he didn’t hear him.

“You don’t have to answer,” Sokka says, backpedaling, “I was just wondering.”

“I’m finishing the rest of the year online,” Zuko mumbles, “it’s… let’s drop it.”

“Okay. Yeah, sure,” Sokka agrees, eager to please, eager to make this more comfortable, and they fall into a settled silence as they sit side by side on the bus’s hard seats. 

Sokka steals a glance at Zuko, his scarred eye facing Sokka. The skin looks rough and raised– a third degree burn if Sokka had to guess. It looks painful, it must have been to get it, and Sokka might miss a filter sometimes but he knows better than to ask people about scars. Or anything that they can’t fix within ten seconds. 

So he only stares briefly before he looks out the window at the neighborhoods blurring by. When he turns to Zuko again he finds the other teen already looking. 

“This is my stop,” Sokka says.

+

They don’t find it in Sokka’s neighborhood either. 

And while they walk Sokka decides he should at least offer Zuko something warm to drink. The teen looks near frozen, he hasn't grabbed any coat or jacket, and Sokka feels immensely guilty about that. 

“Do you want mine?” he offers. 

“No,” Zuko says but he’s red again and Sokka doesn’t take the bluntness of his tone to heart. 

“My house is close by,” Sokka continues and barrels on even though Zuko is staring at him, wide-eyed, “we could go there? To get warm?”

Zuko, if possible, goes even redder. 

“I–” he stammers, flustered and off kilter and then the implications of what Sokka says hits him. 

“Not! Not in a sex way!” Sokka splutters and Zuko looks like he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, “unless you want that!”

Zuko’s beyond red. Sokka can feel his own face flaming. 

“Too soon! I mean, I was never expecting– I don’t want– shit, I mean I would you’re really attractive but I don’t mean come over for sex now. I really did mean come over because you’re cold and I make dope hot chocolate and I’m really really sorry I’ll shut up now.” 

The silence that follows is stifling. Both boys have no idea what to say in the face of their own embarrassment and Sokka’s pretty sure this is the most awkward thing he’s _ever_ done and he wishes he could grab the words and snap them back into his mouth. 

But Zuko isn’t leaving, or getting upset. Instead he’s staring at his feet and gritting his teeth and when he finally meets Sokka’s eyes again he’s got that determined light that Sokka is getting used to seeing. 

“Yes,” he says. 

Sokka swallows.

“Yes you want to come over?” he asks. 

Zuko grins. 

“What if I was saying yes to sex?” 

Sokka thinks his heart stops. He’s pretty sure he’s just choked on _air–_

“I’m kidding,” Zuko is quick to amend, “I– that was a joke.” 

“Right!” Sokka laughs but it’s a strained, jarring sound, “right! Of course. I– that was funny.” 

Zuko’s glowering again, his bottom lip jutted out. 

“Just– lead the way,” Zuko snaps and crosses his arms tight over his chest. 

He’s still cold, Sokka reminds himself, and he takes Zuko gently by the elbow to steer him across the street. It’s unnecessary but Zuko doesn’t seem to mind and Sokka does want to offer some comfort. And Zuko’s sweater looks really soft. 

(It is. Soft.)

Sokka’s house is at the end of the street. 

It’s pretty small but it’s cozy. The front porch is filled with discarded shoes and the house itself is decorated in red and green lights and gold plastic garlands. Katara and his dad love decorating, and Sokka knows the inside holds all the major decorations. He kicks his shoes off and Zuko copies. 

“Dad! Katara?” Sokka calls when he enters the main foyer. 

He can see straight through the house into the kitchen, which is empty. The living room to their left is also devoid of any life. He thinks he can hear Katara watching some show in her room upstairs but his dad is gone for the day. Sokka shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the hooks on the wall by the door. 

“Wait,” Sokka says and Zuko nearly bumps into him at his sudden stop on the way to the kitchen, “do you even like hot chocolate?” 

“I’ve never had it.”

Sokka spins on his heels and faces Zuko, who looks a bit alarmed at his sudden intensity.

“You’ve never had hot chocolate?” Sokka shrieks. 

Zuko glares. 

“No,” he says, defensive, “my uncle works in a tea shop! All I have is tea.” 

“That’s horrible,” Sokka says, and pats Zuko consolatory on the shoulder, “that’s really horrible.” 

“It’s hot chocolate,” Zuko states, “what’s the big deal?” 

“Zuko, I’m gonna be real with you buddy,” Sokka says and leans close, “this is a deal breaker.” 

Zuko blinks. Then he scoffs, but it could be a laugh for the way his lips quirk.

“Then I’m going to actively dislike it,” Zuko tells him and pushes past to enter the kitchen. 

“I feel like you don’t even deserve it now,” Sokka grumbles, but reaches into the cabinets for the hot chocolate packets, the milk from the fridge, a sauce pan, “all this effort and for what?” 

“I make you tea everyday,” Zuko points out, crossing his arms and leaning against the fridge and wow okay, he’s got nice legs, Sokka’s never noticed before since he’s always seen him waist up, “you owe me.” 

It takes Sokka a second to remember they were having a conversation. He turns away from Zuko’s knowing look and begins to shakily prepare the hot chocolate.

“Yeah yeah, calm down cinnamon boy, this’ll rock your world.”

“Cinnamon boy?”

Sokka freezes, and has a moment of panic. Either he’s honest, and comes off as creepy, or…well there’s really no other way to explain that nickname.

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers, “‘cause you– you smell like cinnamon.” 

He can’t see Zuko’s expression, and he isn’t sure if it’s for the best or not, but after an uncomfortably long amount of time Zuko says, “I do work in a tea shop.”

“That you do!” Sokka says, too loud, and then busies himself again with trying to find marshmallows. 

He meets Zuko’s gaze as he finds a pack in the back of the pantry. 

“You like marshmallows right?” he asks. 

Zuko hesitates.

“Wait,” Sokka says, alarmed, “you’re kidding. Don’t tell me you’ve never had marshmallows.” 

Zuko looks increasingly discomfited. 

“Um,” the boy says and gives a self deprecating shrug, “no?” 

“Oh jeez,” Sokka says and then, determined, straightens, “okay. I’m making you the best damn hot chocolate you’ll ever have. Sit down and get comfy!”

Zuko hesitantly seats himself at the kitchen table. It’s covered in magazines and tools and candy wrappers. Zuko sits like he’s waiting to jump up at any second– his back is ramrod straight. 

“Dude, relax,” Sokka tells him, “like. Get comfy.”

Zuko blinks. 

“I am.”

“There’s no way sitting like that is comfortable,” Sokka says. 

“How else am I supposed to sit?” Zuko snaps. 

“Lean back at least?” Sokka tries. 

He wants to make a joke, make this into a teasing jab like he would if Katara ever acted like this, but he has a feeling that this isn’t the time to make Zuko feel like he’s being made fun of. This feels much more intense than just relaxing in a chair. 

Zuko, slowly, leans back. He looks very uncomfortable. 

Not for the first time, Sokka wonders what his home life is like. No hot chocolate, no marshmallows, and, apparently, no being comfortable. A newfound sense of urgency washes over Sokka. He wants Zuko to be warm and relaxed. He wants to bundle Zuko up in a thousand blankets with a thousand hot chocolates and make him laugh. Really laugh. Not those quiet scoffs that Zuko does before scowling– a real, genuine laugh. 

Zuko’s watching him intently, Sokka can feel his gaze, but he takes the time he normally wouldn’t to make this drink right. When he places it in front of Zuko, hot with white fluffy marshmallows floating on the top, Zuko looks skeptical. 

He picks it up, glowers at Sokka because he’s staring, and then takes a tentative sip. 

Zuko’s eyes light up. He licks his lips. 

“Oh,” he says, “I… I like this.” 

Sokka feels his heart inflate. 

“Good,” Sokka says, decisive, “do you wanna watch a movie?” 

Some of the hesitation has left Zuko, and he meets Sokka’s gaze evenly. 

“Yes,” he says, “yes I would.” 

+

Zuko leaves around 5p, just before Sokka’s dad gets home.

Sokka walks him to the bus stop and they wait for it together. 

“I can ride with you,” Sokka offers, “make sure you get back okay.”

Zuko gives him a soft smile.

“I’m not a child, Sokka,” Zuko says, “I’ll be fine.” 

“It’s the Douglass Loop stop,” Sokka says.

“I know.” 

“But double check with the driver.” 

“Sokka,” Zuko says, slow, “I’ll be fine.” 

Sokka nods, “right, of course.”

It’s started to snow, and it’s colder than ever. Zuko’s arms are crossed over his chest, his shoulders hunched. He’s cold, and the bus won’t be that much warmer, and it’s a ten minute walk to his uncle’s tea shop–

Sokka’s shrugging out of his jacket before he thinks twice about it. He puts it over Zuko’s shoulders and Zuko blushes, wide-eyed at the gesture. He looks like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

“I’ll come get it tomorrow,” Sokka tells him, “but you helped me out today. Even if I didn’t find my wallet. And I don’t want you to freeze.” 

Zuko looks like he’s about to argue but he bites his tongue. He stuffs his hands into the deep, ratty pockets. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

Sokka really wants to kiss him. 

“Any time,” Sokka says. 

They’re just staring at each other. 

It feels expectant. 

It feels like the end of a _date–_

The bus pulls up with a cough of exhaust and the doors jerk open loud enough to make Zuko jump. Whatever was building is broken. 

“Uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Sokka says. 

Zuko smiles. 

“Yeah,” he agrees and gets on. 

Sokka watches until the bus disappears down the bend. And then he skips home. 

+

Zuko tells him as soon as he walks into the shop the following morning, “I found your wallet.” 

It takes Sokka a minute to process, since it’s early, he hasn’t had caffeine, and Zuko’s nails are now a deep indigo blue. So he’s obviously fairly distracted.

“You did?” Sokka asks after a too long pause, “where?” 

“By the front door,” Zuko says. 

He hands Zuko the worn leather wallet, and he’s grinning when he says, “nice driver’s license picture by the way.” 

+

They’re friends. 

Well, on paper they’re friends. 

Sokka’s crush hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s gotten a hell of a lot worse. He’s only been talking with Zuko for about six days before he gathers the courage to ask for the boy’s number. And then he goes through a debilitating argument with himself on if he should text first or wait for Zuko to reach out to him. 

In the end he does, because he’s excited, and because he misses Zuko already. 

He puts Zuko in his phone as “cinnamon boy”. It seems fitting. 

**sokka** (7:45pm): hey

 **cinnamon boy** (7:50pm): who is this

 **sokka** (7:50pm): haha ur hilarious 

**cinnamon boy** (7:51pm): i try

 **sokka** (7:52pm): do u ever get tired of drinking tea 

**cinnamon boy** (7:52pm): every damn day of my life

 **cinnamon boy** (7:52pm): don’t tell my uncle 

**cinnamon boy** (7:53pm): he’ll disown me

 **sokka** (7:55pm): does ur uncle drink hot chocolate 

**cinnamon boy** (8:00pm): take a wild guess 

They text until Sokka’s eyes begin to ache from the strain. 

**sokka** (1:15am): im fading gonna zzzz

 **cinnamon boy** (1:16am): didnt know you were a bee

 **sokka** (1:16am): just for that you owe me a large tea 

**cinnamon boy** (1:18am): no more free vanilla then

 **sokka** (1:22am): wait zuko im kidding

 **sokka** (1:34am): zuko

 **sokka** (1:35am): dude pls 

**cinnamon boy** (1:36am): go to bed bee boy

 **sokka** (1:36am): pls don’t let that stick

 **cinnamon boy** (1:37am): 🐝🐝🐝

  
  


+

“I think I’m in love with him,” Sokka says around his third drink, “I think I’m really, actually, in love with him.” 

“Who’s he talking about now?” Toph grumbles from where she’s splayed her legs over the edge of Sokka’s favorite bean bag chair. 

“This boy that works at a tea shop,” Katara answers, stuffing more popcorn into her mouth, “it’s all he talks about.” 

Suki blinks at him. They’re the only two drinking, Katara and Toph not wanting to and Aang already acts drunk on a regular basis. They’re crammed into Sokka’s room. It’s snowing outside, the wind whistling and making the house creak, and their dad is downstairs watching reruns on the TV. It’s a Friday night and Suki brough spiked eggnog and Sokka is warm and drunk and really, _really_ wants to kiss Zuko.

“Maybe I should tell him,” Sokka wonders and begins to pull out his phone before Suki snatches it out of his hands.

“No!” she snaps, and bats his hands away when he tries to reach for it, “no drunk texting. It won’t go well.” 

“Aw, Suks, c’mon,” Sokka wheedles, “I’m not gonna say anything embarrassing.”

“Sokka for you, that’s impossible,” Katara deadpans. Toph cackles.

“I don’t see the issue,” Aang pipes up, sitting cross legged on Sokka’s bed and reading through all his comic books, “I say you should ask him out!”

“I say you wait until you're sober,” Suki admonishes, “really Sokka, remember how scared Zuko is?”

The wording throws Sokka for a loop. 

“Scared?” he repeats, “Zuko isn’t scared.”

“He literally ran away from you because you called him pretty,” Suki reminds.

“Oh wow!” Toph exclaims, “now I really want you to text him!”

“He ran away?” Aang asks, confused. 

“He– okay, yes, he ran away,” Sokka says, throwing his hands in the air and almost upending his bowl of chips, “but! He’s gotten better.” 

“Better than running,” Toph muses, “good for him.” 

“This is _my_ room,” Sokka feels the need to point out. “I’m letting all of you in it.”

He’s too drunk to follow that train of thought all the way through. Suki really packed the vodka in these. His hands are all tingly. 

“Sokka I don’t mean to put you down,” Katara says, gently, “but you had a crush on that girl only a few weeks ago. How’s this different?” 

Normally Sokka would feel hurt by her comments. Now, he doesn’t really care. 

“It’s different cause I _know_ him,” Sokka tells her earnestly, “I didn’t know the other people!”

“You should ask him out, Sokka,” Aang pipes up, leaning over the edge of the bed to meet Sokka’s gaze, “if you really like him that is! I say go for it!”

“It’s not that simple,” Sokka tries, “I don’t know if he likes men–”

“He most likely does,” Suki mutters around her eggnog.

“ _And_ I don’t want to make him uncomfortable around me if he says no.”

“Didn’t you call him pretty before you started actually hanging out?” Toph points out. “That didn’t seem to ruin anything.”

And fuck. 

She has a point. Sokka’s hearts racing. 

“Okay, yeah! You guys are right!” 

Aang cheers him on, “go Sokka! You got this!” 

“Why are you standing?” Katara asks, “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“I’m going to ask out Zuko!” Sokka yells. Probably too loud. 

He doesn’t really care. He feels– excited. It’s most likely the alcohol. It’s most likely the adrenaline of new, intensely positive emotions. But he just– wow, he feels so good. He feels _light_. He’s surrounded by his friends and he’s in love and it’s snowing–

He wonders, suddenly, where Zuko is. What he’s doing. 

He had never had hot chocolate. 

The good mood dissipates into intense determination. He looks around at his friends. They’re all staring at him, halfway expectant and bemused, except for Toph who’s busy eating all the ruffles. 

“Guys,” Sokka says, addressing the room, “we need to go.”

“Uh, where?” Katara asks. 

“I need to invite Zuko over and then go pick him up.” 

“Sokka, honey,” Suki tries and reaches out to take his wrist, “that doesn’t make sense. You’re drunk.”

“What if he’s lonely?” Sokka asks, spinning to face Suki, “He’d never had hot chocolate before me!”

“Wow okay,” Toph speaks up, “easy lover boy.” 

“I’m serious,” Sokka pushes, “I need my phone.” 

“I dunno if that’s a good idea Sokka,” Aang says, scratching at his head, “I mean, you seem kind of out of it.” 

“No no, I’m fine. I’m perfectly functional.” 

“You’re stepping on the pudding cups.” 

“Guys, c’mon–”

“Fine! Fine, here,” Suki sighs and passes Sokka his phone. 

He snatches it up and falls next to Toph on the beanbag chair, ignoring her indignant “hey!” as he settles against her side. He opens up his and Zuko’s messages and quickly types out: 

**sokka** (10:45pm): wht r u doing? wanna com over? 😘😘

“And now we wait,” Sokka says and closes his eyes. 

“Sure, Sokka,” Katara says, “what did you even say?” 

He barely hears her. He’s passed out. 

+

He wakes up because Toph’s foot is in his face and he’s lying half off the beanbag and half on the ground. 

It looks like everyone passed out where they had been sitting, except for Katara and Suki, who had both taken the bed and Aang fell asleep on the floor. Sokka has a horrible crick in his neck, his shoulders are tight, and he groans as he sits up. 

The beanbag chair might be comfortable at first but it really lacks in back support. He goes into the bathroom first thing, splashes himself with cold water and tries to feel like a human being. He can hear his dad downstairs in the kitchen and from the smell of it he’s cooking eggs and bacon and maybe cinnamon toast. Cinnamon. 

Shit. 

Sokka scrambles into his room, tries to be quiet in his panic so as to not wake anyone up. He gets his phone and leaves, closing the door and sitting on the top step of the stairs. He feels unbearably anxious. 

He has four new messages from Zuko. 

Sokka feels the panic settle in further. Fuck. He thought he’d only sent one text. He obviously didn’t. Zuko isn’t one to send multiple texts. With shaking fingers Sokka unlocks his phone and goes to his messages with Zuko. And promptly wants to disappear. 

  
  


**sokka** (10:45pm): wht r u doing? wanna com over? 😘😘

 **cinnamon boy** (10:50pm): cleaning the shop

 **sokka** (10:50pm): it’s midnight!!!!!!! :(

 **cinnamon boy** (10:51pm): it’s 11

 **sokka** (10:52pm): stop workinnngggg come overrrrrr 

**sokka** (10:53pm): pls plss

 **cinnamon boy** (11:03pm): are you drunk?

 **sokka** (11:05pm): maybe a little 

**sokka** (11:05pm): i miss u

 **cinnamon boy** (11:13pm): are you having fun?

 **sokka** (11:20pm): would have more fun with you ;) ;)

 **cinnamon boy** (11:21pm): i’m not the best company 

**sokka** (11:21pm): i disagree 

**cinnamon boy** (11:40pm): you don’t know me

 **sokka** (11:51pm): i know u like sweaters and dark nail polish and that u smell like cinnamon and that u love ur uncle and u like sweets even tho u pretend u dont and ur really smart and get angry when ur embarrassed

 **cinnamon boy** (12:43pm): go to sleep sokka

Sokka doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He’s an idiot. He’s so so stupid. He buries his face in his hands and groans. He made Zuko uncomfortable. 

Again. 

He said too much. 

Again.

Fuck did he blow it? He isn’t sure. There is one way to find out, and it’s to text Zuko. He should definitely apologize. 

**sokka** (10:19am): i’m so sorry 

**sokka** (10:19am): i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable 

**sokka** (10:20am): i understand if you dont wanna talk anymore 

He feels weighted. His chest is heavy. Suddenly the breakfast downstairs makes his stomach clench and roll. He takes a deep shuddering breath and goes down the steps, shrugs on one of his coats, pulls on his boots and leaves. 

It’s cold out. The snow stuck to the sidewalks but turned to slush in the street. The chill helps sober him up a bit. He doesn’t know where he’s going, besides that he had to walk. He needs to clear his head. Fuck he’s the worst isn’t he? He needs to stop flirting. He needs to stop telling Zuko all his feelings. It’s a new friendship. It’s tentative. And Sokka keeps pushing for too much. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He nearly drops it for how much he’s fumbling. 

**cinnamon boy** (10:36am): how hungover are you?

His heart is pounding. He can’t help the hope that bubbles in his chest. 

**sokka** (10:36am): even the snow hurts 

**cinnamon boy** (10:37am): do you know the diner on casselberry 

**sokka** (10:37am): yea

 **cinnamon boy** (10:38am): meet me there? 

Sokka can’t stop himself from smiling. He turns on his heel and makes his way to the bus stop. 

**sokka** (10:38am): omw!

+

Hakoda used to take Sokka and Katara to this diner every Saturday when they were kids. 

Sokka hasn’t been here in a while. He’s nervous but he’s excited because he gets to see Zuko and maybe eat some great french toast and wow coffee sounds heavenly right now. He enters the diner and all he smells is butter and eggs and bacon. There’s an old jukebox in the back by the bathrooms and the black and white tiles are dirty with slush and mud. The red leather booths are just as plastic and ratty as they were a year ago and Sokka spots Zuko almost immediately. 

He’s in a booth to the far left, a mug of coffee in his hands and a thick black sweater on. Sokka’s jacket is draped over the back of the booth. He spots Sokka and smiles, that soft small one, and Sokka feels like he’s going to throw up with nerves but he approaches nonetheless. 

“Hey,” he says and shrugs off his coat. 

Zuko sips his coffee. It’s almost white, for how much cream he’s put in it. 

“Hi,” Zuko returns. 

His hair is a shaggy mess, he looks tired, and his nail polish is chipping but Sokka swears he hasn’t seen anyone look more lovely. He could stare at Zuko all day and not get bored. He would stay here all day in this uncomfortable plastic booth if it meant he’d get to see Zuko look this soft. 

“I’m sorry,” Sokka blurts. Zuko doesn’t seem surprised by this outburst. “I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean anything– I mean, I did, but I had too much to drink and that’s not an excuse but I’m sorry. I’m just– I’m sorry.” 

Zuko takes another sip of his coffee. He doesn’t look upset.

“It’s okay,” Zuko says after a moment. “I’m not used to anyone…I’m not close to a lot of people. No one’s talked to me like that before.” 

“Did it make you uncomfortable?” 

“No. Not if it’s you,” Zuko admits, “it was…nice.” 

Well, this is heartbreaking. 

“I like you,” Sokka says, “and I want to be friends. I don’t want to overstep. If I do, please just tell me.” 

Zuko’s expression is unreadable. 

“My sister told me you came into the shop,” Zuko says, leaning forward on his elbows, “she said an awkward boy with a shaved head said hi.”

Sokka feels himself flushing. He hides it behind opening the menu. 

“I thought she wouldn’t say anything,” Sokka admits, “she’s a little… uh…”

“Scary?” Zuko supplies.

Sokka remembers the girl’s comment about Zuko’s scar. 

“Rude,” Sokka corrects, voice firm. 

“Well,” Zuko says, “she isn’t known for her people skills.” 

“What people skills?” 

That gets a smile, a bigger one than usual, from Zuko.

“I didn’t know she’s your sister,” Sokka says. 

Zuko wraps his fingers, thinner than Sokka’s own, around the width of the mug. His gaze drifts out the window, frosted with steam from the inside heat. 

“Yeah,” Zuko says, “younger.” 

“Are you… are you two close?” Sokka ventures. 

He half expects Zuko to change the subject. Instead, Zuko answers, his scarred side less visible now that he’s looking out the window. 

“No,” he says, carefully, “I would say that Azula isn’t close to anyone.” 

Sokka wants to ask more. He wants to know why Zuko is taking online classes, he wants to know why Zuko lives with his uncle, he wants to know so much but he decides to be patient. He’ll let Zuko offer this information up himself. He realizes, belatedly, that he hasn’t shared anything of his own. 

“My dad used to take Katara and I here all the time,” Sokka says and Zuko faces him, sipping at his coffee. “Every Saturday and Christmas morning. “

Zuko raises his eyebrow. 

“You don’t come here anymore?” he asks. 

Sokka shrugs and leans back against the booth. He’s trying for nonchalance but he isn’t sure he’s succeeding. 

“After my mom died we kind of … stopped,” he admits, throat tightening. 

He doesn’t meet Zuko’s eyes. He’ll know what he’ll find: pity, sympathy– he doesn’t want that. He knows it’s sad. He knows it sucks. And he knows Zuko would just be reacting to bad news but he doesn’t– he doesn’t want to feel sad right now. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Zuko’s fingers touch the back of his hand, gentle and timid and warm from the coffee. Sokka is so startled by the gesture he forgets he’s not supposed to look at Zuko. 

Zuko looks understanding. 

“I lost my mom too,” Zuko tells him and his fingers wrap more firmly around Sokka’s hand until it’s a completed gesture of comfort, “that’s why I live with my uncle. It was that or stay with my father.” 

Sokka feels like they’re treading on ice. Sure, it’s cracking. And sure, they both might say something wrong and plummet into freezing water but–

But this feels important to push. Just a little. 

“You’re not close to your dad?” Sokka ventures. 

Zuko’s smile is twisted. 

“No,” he answers, “I haven’t seen him in three years. Trust me, it’s better that way.” 

Sokka turns his hand so that Zuko and him are properly holding hands. He wants to offer the same solidarity back. Zuko’s skin is warm. Zuko’s touch is warm. It’s nice. It’s easier than Sokka thought it would be. 

“If you ever wanna talk about it,” Sokka says, “I’m here. And you can come over anytime. Really, I’ll make you hot chocolate even when it’s 90 degrees out.” 

Zuko huffs. 

“I’ll hold you to it,” he says and his cheeks are a soft pink, “maybe not the hot chocolate in 90 degree heat but– uh, the other part.” 

Sokka grins, toothy and wide.

“The coming over part,” Sokka supplies. 

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees and doesn’t look away, “that part.” 

They eat chocolate chip pancakes and waffles. The waitress brings more coffee without them having to ask. And Sokka realizes that he’s forgotten his wallet. 

“I feel like you’re doing this on purpose,” Zuko teases as he takes care of the bill. 

“I swear, this isn’t some mastermind plan to get you to buy me things,” Sokka says, embarrassed, “I got the next breakfast.” 

There’s a glint in Zuko’s eyes that makes Sokka’s heart skip.

“Sure,” Zuko says with his small, crooked smile, “next breakfast.”   
  


+  
  


When Zuko sees Suki again he doesn’t recognize her. 

It even takes Sokka by surprise, because honestly, who doesn’t notice Suki? But Zuko just introduces himself with a timid wave and it takes Sokka about three minutes to realize that Zuko doesn’t have any idea who Suki is. Which, maybe that’s good. Maybe that means Zuko has blocked out Sokka knocking over the tip jar and calling him pretty. They definitely have never talked about it– they don’t need to. 

It’s an interesting feeling that’s growing in Sokka’s chest when Suki introduces herself and then goes to say around a laugh, “you don’t recognize me at all!” 

And Zuko’s cheeks go pink and he takes a second to gather his thoughts, “sorry.” 

Sokka isn’t used to be noticed. Normally, no one really pays much attention to him. Not even in a bad way, he just doesn’t stand out. He doesn’t have that kind of presence unless he’s being loud. And he’s usually only being loud because he wants someone to notice him. 

And Zuko had. 

Zuko had only noticed him.

If Sokka thought he had a crush before it’s nothing compared to how it feels now. 

It feels–

It feels like being bundled in blankets fresh from the dryer. 

It feels like when someone makes you something just because they know you like it. It nearly chokes him up but it shouldn’t. It’s the silliest thing but as Zuko and Suki get to know one another at the rounded table in the bakery near the Jasmine Dragon Sokka feels like he might cry. 

Zuko is sitting next to him and he glances at him often, all the time, like he’s gathering his confidence from knowing that Sokka is there. It’s a lot. And all Sokka wants to do is reach out and take Zuko’s hand. 

His nails are the dark red today. It looks really good with his light eyes. _He_ looks really good. 

Sokka drinks the rest of his coffee even if it’s too hot. The burn helps. For a bit. 

+

Zuko brings his dad flowers and a large canister of Vanilla Rooibos tea. 

He looks like he doesn’t know what to do with all of it balanced in his lap when Sokka picks him up at his Uncle’s apartment. 

“Uh, what’s all that for, buddy?” Sokka asks, not bothering to drive just yet because Zuko is trying to buckle without crushing the enormous bouquet of flowers and it’s dark but Sokka is positive he knows what shade of pink Zuko is blushing. 

“A thank you,” Zuko says, “for your father. My uncle said it was polite.” 

“It is,” Sokka assures, “it’s just bigger than my head.” 

Zuko shoots him a weak glare. 

“It’s all they had left,” Zuko snaps, “Christmas is in a few days. People like flowers, I guess.” 

Now Sokka peels out of the lot, careful of the people slipping on the icy sidewalks. 

“You don’t?” Sokka asks. 

Zuko looks unsure. 

“I don’t mind them,” he says. 

“Huh. Tell me something,” Sokka hums as Christmas decorations flash by them in blurs of red and gold and green, “are those your favorite flowers?” 

Zuko looks away. 

“Shut up,” he mutters. 

“They are!” 

“I said shut up.”

“They’re pretty,” Sokka assures, “I’m sure under the ugly fluorescents of my kitchen they’ll look even better.” 

Zuko huffs out a sigh but it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. 

“Is it…” Zuko begins after a moment of silence, “is it really too much?” 

Sokka can’t help it: he reaches out and holds Zuko’s hand. 

The other boy is clutching the canister of tea so tightly it’s more like Sokka’s just patting his knuckles but slowly, Zuko’s grip eases so that Sokka can wrap his fingers around Zuko’s palm. 

He’s nervous, Sokka can tell. 

Zuko met Hakoda once, in passing. Sokka wants to tell Zuko that this is really no big deal, that his dad is a dork and a sweetheart, but he doesn’t think Zuko can process all that right now. So he just holds his hand and says, “it’s great. Really, dude. My dad and Katara will love them.” 

Zuko swallows. 

“Do you like them?” 

Sokka isn’t sure why his heart is racing. He should be used to it by now, it’s constantly dancing against his ribs whenever Zuko is around. 

“Yeah,” Sokka admits, “I do. I think they bring out my eyes.” 

“Why do I hang out with you?” Zuko bemoans but he holds Sokka’s hand tighter. 

+

Zuko is awkward. Which isn’t anything new. 

Hakoda greets them at the door with a wide smile and a kitchen smelling like stove cooked burgers. Katara is on the steps braiding her hair and she waves when she sees Zuko. The two of them have met a few times, and Katara is always extra smiley when Zuko enters the room. It makes Sokka a little suspicious but in the grand scheme of things he’s just glad they don’t hate each other. 

“Sokka was telling me your uncle owns that tea shop on Casselberry,” Hakoda says. 

“Yes, sir,” Zuko answers.

“Please, just Hakoda is fine.” 

“Sorry,” Zuko swallows. 

Sokka wants to reach over and hug him, the guy looks so wound up. He’s overthinking again, Sokka knows, can see it in the way that Zuko takes a while to process a question, in the way he wrings his hands in his lap and barely eats. 

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea? 

Zuko can’t meet anyone’s eyes, and he doesn’t relax for most of the dinner. Hakoda doesn’t seem to mind or take any offense, of course he wouldn’t, and he and Sokka help pick up the conversations when there’s any lull. Zuko offers to do the dishes but Hakoda pats his shoulder and says, “don’t worry about it. You two go have a night.” 

Zuko seems like he went offline again. 

The flowers he brought were a huge hit with Katara and the tea is Hakoda’s favorite. Katara takes the bouquet up to her room almost immediately and Sokka has to grip Zuko’s elbow and tug him out of the kitchen because the boy isn’t moving on his own. He actually doesn’t look great, now that Sokka is really looking at him. He’s pale, and his eyes are sunken. 

“Hey,” Sokka whispers, stopping them in the front hall, his hands a gentle pressure on Zuko’s shoulders, “are you okay?” 

Zuko’s gaze is fixed somewhere over Sokka’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine,” he says, his voice raspy.

Sokka’s grip tightens. 

“It’s okay if you’re no–”

“Can we drive?” Zuko interrupts. 

Sokka blinks.

“Like… just around?”

“Yes,” Zuko is shockingly eager, “yes. That.” 

“Uh, sure. Yeah, ‘course,” Sokka says and grabs his jacket off the hook, his keys tucked into the pockets, “Dad! We’re going out! Be back soon!” 

“Be safe! It’s snowing hard!” Hakoda calls from the kitchen. 

“C’mon,” Sokka says, takes Zuko’s hand, and pulls him outside. 

+

Zuko takes the aux cord and blasts indie pop so loud that Sokka can barely hear himself think but he can hear Zuko singing, and he can hear how Zuko’s voice shakes. 

He isn’t sure what’s going on with the other boy but it’s obviously not great. He turns down the volume and turns down a more secluded street. The houses around them are all decorated for the holidays, piled high with lights and fake Santa’s. Sokka knows a wonderful spot they can stop and see the whole city from. He’s almost desperate to show Zuko something lovely. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Sokka asks gently. 

It takes so long for Zuko to respond that Sokka doesn’t think he will. 

“My father wants to see me and my sister on Christmas morning,” Zuko says, facing the road ahead. 

Sokka has never asked about Zuko’s parents. 

All he knows is that the boy lives with his uncle, and that his mother left them when they were young. 

“That’s bad I’m guessing,” Sokka says. 

Zuko laughs. It’s a scoffing, bitter sound. 

“I– your dad is nothing like mine,” Zuko says, “I’m not used to… nevermind.” 

Sokka knows what he was going to say. 

He’s not used to affection from anyone who isn’t his uncle. 

“Come over to mine,” Sokka blurts. 

Zuko looks over at him, surprised. 

“What?” he asks and now that Sokka’s said it he really wants it. 

“Come to my house for Christmas,” Sokka continues, “your uncle can come to.” 

Zuko’s tripping over his words. 

“I– Sokka, c’mon–”

“No. Do it. Come over,” Sokka interrupts, voice firm and he glances at Zuko, sees his shocked expression in the passing of the lights, “only if you want. But it’s on the table. You can come over if you don’t want to see your dad or if you just want to get away. You have options.” 

Zuko turns away. 

He doesn’t speak for a long time. 

When he does, he says it to the glass and the inflatable Santa on a nearby lawn, “I’ve never had anyone like you.” 

Sokka swallows, throat tight. He has a crush. But most importantly, right now, he has a friend in Zuko. 

“You wanna get drunk?” Sokka asks because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

When Zuko turns to him his eyes are misty but he’s grinning with his genuine, crooked smile. 

“Hell yeah.” 

+

They get drunk off Hakoda’s whiskey at 9:45pm on a Wednesday.

The whole night Sokka has to remind himself that Zuko is his friend. Zuko is his friend and he should not kiss him. 

He should _not_ kiss him. 

By 10:30pm he can’t think of a good reason not to. 

Zuko is soft. His hair is shaggy, cut by his uncle, and too long around his ears. He took off his sweater and the shirt underneath is wrinkled and worn. He’s wearing a pair of Sokka’s sweatpants. Sokka wants to protect him from everything. He wants to kiss him. 

“Hey,” he whispers and Zuko looks over at him, blinking slowly, “can I kiss you?”

Zuko blinks again. 

“What?” he asks. 

He’s red from the alcohol. 

He’s pink from embarrassment. Sokka stumbles on his own tongue. 

“Nevermind,” he says and then, awareness seeps in, “shit! Yup. Nevermind. All good. Do you need water? _I_ need water. I’ll be back with water. And chips, we should eat more. _You_ should eat more. Not that you don’t eat. I just mean since the whiskey–”

Zuko leans over. 

His hand is on Sokka’s forearm. He’s sitting cross legged and his knee bumps against Sokka’s. 

Zuko kisses him. 

It’s a bit sticky from the whiskey. It’s warm. It doesn’t last long. Zuko pulls back like he’s been shocked. The two boys stare at each other, suspended. The whiskey bottle is forgotten between them. 

It’s still snowing and Zuko is still so soft and he’d just– 

He–

Sokka’s shaking. 

He feels so dizzy. He reaches forward and doesn’t know what to do with his hand. He wants to touch Zuko. He does, barely, on the side of Zuko’s neck. He’d been aiming for his cheek. 

He wanted to be romantic. 

“I think,” Sokka says, “I’m going to throw up.” 

He does. Zuko pats his back as Sokka vomits into the toilet. 

Hakoda’s voice is muffled through the door, “all right in there?” 

“Yes sir,” Zuko answers, “just fine!” 

“I’m dying,” Sokka hisses, “this is _so_ gross.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Zuko tells him. 

Sokka answers by dry heaving. 

+

Zuko doesn’t bring the kiss up. 

So Sokka doesn’t either. He’s too embarrassed, and on edge, and it had been so fast and so quick that Sokka thinks it was the whiskey talking and not any real feelings, not on Zuko’s part at least. 

So they don’t talk about it. 

+

Sokka’s sick on Christmas Eve. 

Which really fucking blows because Toph keeps trying to get him into drinking Suki’s specially made egg nog again and Sokka’s already thrown up without the help of alcohol two times today. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asks, glaring at the short girl from under a swaddle of blankets. 

“Shh, not so loud,” Toph says, speaking loudly, “just drink the spiked Christmas juice.” 

“You’re Jewish,” Sokka points out, “what are you even _doing_ here?” 

“My mom is Jewish, therefore I’m an atheist. Also I’m here to drink the special Christmas juice.” 

“If your mom’s Jewish doesn’t that make you–”

Toph smooshes her palm against Sokka’s mouth just as Katara skirts by and elegantly plucks the glass out of Toph’s hand. Thank God, Sokka can’t take care of anyone but himself right now. 

“Aaand that’s enough for you,” Katara sing-songs and Toph’s pout is pretty impressive. 

Not as impressive as Zuko’s, but still impressive. 

“Katara,” Sokka calls out from his position as a burrito on the couch, “phone. Please.” 

“You should try sleeping,” Hakoda calls from the kitchen, where Aang is helping him dish the takeout, “staring at your screen won’t help your eyes.” 

“There is no helping them,” Sokka grumbles as Katara passes his phone over anyway. He unlocks it with fever tinged fingers.

His heart nearly bursts. 

He has a missed call. One missed call. 

From Zuko. 

He hesitates only a moment, only long enough for his anxiety to scream _he doesn’t want anything more to do with you!_ before he calls back. It rings. 

And rings. 

And Sokka struggles to sit up despite Toph trying to push him back down because something just feels _wrong–_

“Sokka?”

Zuko’s voice is soft and raspy and Sokka hasn’t realized how much he’s missed it until he’s heard it. 

“Hey,” Sokka breathes, “what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

There’s some rustling on the other line, a muffled voice, and then, “it’s really nothing. I forgot it was Christmas Eve. We can talk–”

“What’s happened?” Sokka demands, pushes, because sometimes if he doesn’t Zuko will take that as an excuse to never open up, to never ask for what he needs, and if he’s hurting then Sokka wants to help.

Zuko takes a while to answer.

“My dad,” Zuko begins and Sokka is off the couch in an instant, head-rush dizziness be damned. 

“What are you doing!” Toph hisses but Sokka rushes into the front hall, grabs his jacket and keys–

“…I just didn’t expect to see him. Sokka it’s– what’s that noise?” Zuko asks. 

The door is slamming open, maybe that’s what Zuko heard. That, and Katara is chasing him down the driveway. 

“Sokka! What the fuck!” Katara is screaming.

“Nothing! Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Sokka reassures and tries to hold Katara at bay while pressing his phone between his ear and shoulder and using his left hand to unlock the driver’s side door, “where are you?” 

“At the tea shop,” Zuko answers cautiously, “Sokka, what’s–”

“I’ll be there in fifteen!” Sokka shouts and hangs up. 

“Like hell you will!” Katara snaps, grabbing Sokka’s phone just as he gets the door open and slides in, “Sokka you have a high fever!”

“I’ll be fine!”

Hakoda has appeared in the doorway, and he’s making his way down the front steps. 

“Shit, Katara move.”

“No!”

“Sokka what’s going on?” Hakoda asks and now Sokka really can’t slam the door shut and peel away. 

“I need to go.” 

Hakoda does not look happy with that answer.

“No, you need to sleep,” he says and holds the door open, “you’re sick. You can’t drive right now.” 

“Dad you don’t get it,” Sokka says, “Zuko’s father sucks and he’s not doing well and–”

“Get out,” Hakoda says.

“Dad, c’mon–”

“No. Out.” 

Sokka wants to argue. He really does, but he feels fucking terrible. He’s hot all over, dizzy and nauseous and his father’s right. He shouldn’t be doing this. He gets out of the car and nearly passes out. 

Katara grabs him.

“I can go,” she offers, “Aang and I. We can check on him.” 

Sokka nods, barely anything because his head is killing him. 

“Yeah, all right,” he mutters. 

Hakoda carries him inside.

+

“You’re an idiot,” is the first thing Zuko tells him. 

Sokka wakes up at 11am on Christmas day to an angry teenager glaring down at him. Uncle Iroh’s voice is wafting from their kitchen, and Sokka smells waffles and bacon and eggs and everything that’s good–

He feels a little better. And Zuko is here. 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Sokka grumbles but he can’t keep the large smile from spreading across his face, “but you’ll need to be more specific.” 

Zuko’s gaze softens and he hesitates before reaching out and brushing Sokka’s greasy hair off his forehead. 

“You tried to drive across town with a high fever,” Zuko tells him, voice reprimanding but expression so _so_ fond, “and it takes thirty minutes to get there, not fifteen, so I’m assuming you were planning on breaking the speed limit _with_ a high fever.” 

Sokka thinks he should feel bad. He doesn’t. Instead he reaches out and holds Zuko’s hand. 

“Worth it,” he says. 

“You didn’t do it,” Zuko reminds him. 

Sokka shrugs. 

“Would have,” he admits. 

Zuko loses whatever tension he had been holding in his shoulders. He kneels down next to the couch and looks up at where Sokka’s head is pillowed on a bright orange pillow. 

“What happened?” Sokka asks, gently. 

“My father came to the shop,” Zuko whispers and Sokka wants to trace the rough skin of his cheek but he stops himself, “Azula left with him. I didn’t.” 

“Are you okay?” Sokka wonders, and this answer is the most important. 

Zuko stares at him for a long, long time. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, sincere, “I am.”

Iroh’s voice booms from the kitchen and it’s followed by Aang’s loud, tinkling laugh. Sokka can just see Katara, staring at him like he hung the stars. 

“Merry Christmas,” Zuko says. 

“Merry Christmas,” Sokka returns. “If this was a movie we’d kiss.”

Zuko turns bright red but doesn’t move to put space between them. 

“You’re sick,” Zuko points out but he kisses the back of Sokka’s knuckles, sweet and chaste, and he’s so fucking precious that Sokka feels like screaming. 

“I don’t feel bad anymore,” Sokka wiggles his eyebrows. 

Zuko laughs, real and surprised. 

It’s the best Christmas present. 

+

Sokka’s fever breaks that night. 

He takes the next day slow, and Iroh approaches him with a warm cup of tea. 

“It’ll help,” he tells Sokka and then, in a whisper, “Zuko is quite taken with you.” 

Sokka flushes pink. 

“He is?” he asks because being reassured his feelings aren’t one-sided is always a nice feeling. 

“Oh yes,” Iroh confirms and glances over at where Zuko is helping Katara paint the nails on her left hand, “your all he talks about.” 

Sokka’s smile turns bashful. 

“I like him,” Sokka admits, “in a gay way.”

Iroh winks. 

“I know,” he says. “It’s obvious.” 

“Oh,” Sokka wilts.

“Ask him out,” Iroh says, “he’s too shy.” 

And then Iroh goes to join Hakoda and Sokka is stuck staring at Zuko for so long that he forgets he’s supposed to be opening presents. 

+

Iroh and Zuko leave around 4p. 

Sokka hates that he sleeps through it but he wakes up to a small envelope tucked carefully under his hand. 

+

A shower saves him. 

So does a big meal, and another solid night's sleep, and when he wakes up on Boxing Day he feels only a little tired. 

He hasn’t opened the letter yet. He didn’t want to when he was half aware of himself. 

(Also, he’s scared). 

He sits in his room, showered and fed and refreshed, and realizes that this is the best time for facing reality. He opens the letter carefully. It’s written on the back of a napkin, because of course Zuko felt too awkward to ask his father for actual paper. 

All it reads is: 

_I like you_

_Not in a friend way_

_Well, in a friend way but also in a romantic way._

_–Zuko_

  
  


“Wow,” Sokka laughs, “this is a mess.” 

But he’s smiling, and giddy, and reads it over and over, until he’s memorized even the way Zuko forgets to dot the i’s. 

+

Sokka goes into the tea shop the next day, early in the morning. 

Zuko is behind the counter and he looks a bit horrified when Sokka walks in. 

“Hi,” Sokka greets. 

“Hey,” Zuko returns, that electrified expression creeping onto his features, “how are you feeling?” 

“Amazing,” Sokka grins and pulls out Zuko’s napkin letter. “So, I read this.” 

Zuko visibly swallows. 

“Yeah,” he says and his voice cracks. 

“You’ve been making all the moves on me,” Sokka says and leans forward a little so he’s leaning on the counter, “and I haven’t been able to return the favor.” 

Zuko’s face scrunches in confusion. The tip of his one pale ear turns red enough to match the other. It’s unbelievably adorable. Sokka wants to kiss him all over. 

“Can you just–” Zuko begins, takes a breath, and continues, “can you just reject me already?” 

Sokka blinks. 

“What?” 

Zuko stares at Sokka’s hands, resting on the edge of the wooden counter. He doesn’t meet Sokka’s gaze. 

“If…if you don’t like me back that’s fine,” Zuko whispers, shattered, “completely uh, it’s fine I’ll just need an adjustment period but–”

“Zuko.”

“But it’ll be okay! I won’t make it weird. Well, weirder, I won’t make it–”

“ _Zuko–_ ”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to like me just because I brought you tea and flowers and wrote on a napkin–”

“Sweetheart!” 

Zuko swallows his tongue. His teeth clack together so hard that Sokka thinks he might have cracked a molar. He’s staring at Sokka with wide, startled eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s breathing. Sokka didn’t mean to call him that. He didn’t, but he’s glad he _did_ because Zuko is so confused and _pretty_ and deserving to be called every nice thing in the entire _universe–_

“I like you,” Sokka says because stalling and building up to this obviously isn’t the way to go with Zuko’s non-existent self esteem, “in more than a friend way.” 

Zuko stares. 

“And,” Sokka continues, gently, “I wanna date you. Wine and dine, the whole spiel. In a romantic, non-platonic setting. How does that sound?” 

It takes a moment for Sokka’s words to process. Zuko’s eyes are glassy. 

“Really?” he squeaks. 

“Yeah,” Sokka says and reaches out to hold Zuko’s shaking hand in his, “if you’d like.” 

Zuko still seems unsure. He nods, jerky. 

“And uh,” Sokka says and reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out a crumbled mistletoe, “this is lame but. It’s Christmas. And I ruined our last kiss by throwing up, and all the florists are closed today so I cut this off the tree in our backyard ‘cause it’s all I had–”

“Sokka.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re rambling.”

“Right.”

“Can I kiss you?” 

Sokka feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. 

“God, please?” 

Zuko laughs and hides it against Sokka’s lips. _This is better_ , Sokka decides, _than kissing drunk_. He can feel Zuko now. He can appreciate everything. 

And he doesn’t knock over the tip jar.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> sending all of you guys love. <3 <3


End file.
